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The London air is cold, brittle, muted once Noora gets past the turnstile and into the shelter of the tube station. The lights are fluorescent, too bright, but familiar all the same. Just as familiar is the way Eva lingers close behind, following suit and swiping her Oyster Card with the same swift urgency Noora’s used to doing herself— trying not to hold up the line, doing her best to blend in, attempting to not look like a newly acquainted resident who might as well be brushed off as a mere tourist, maybe even an American one. No matter either way, it’s not like Eva cares too much what other people think of her.
Noora doesn’t either, or at least she’s trying not to. Emphasis on the trying.
Eva’s caught on quick to this city, knows what direction to turn in— the Piccadilly line, Eastbound, platform three— right before Noora reaches for her hand and nudges her. She lets Noora do it anyway, and doesn’t let go.
William used to act like he owned this city. Noora loathed him for it. Now, a small rush of pride fills her when she sees Eva following the signs, making her way around, accommodating herself. Making Noora’s new home her home, at least for a couple of weeks. As long as she can stay, until she has to go back to Oslo. Noora’s trying not to think of her departure like a ticking clock, like an inevitable sadness. There’s too much hope in the meantime, joy in the now, for her to turn into a pessimist.
Noora notices so much about Eva, always has. There’s still that feeling, deep in the back of her mind like a sickness, uneasy about the idea that she’s being a critic, like prey, like him, but then Eva will flash her a smile, hold onto the sleeve of her coat when they approach a crowd of people as to not lose each other in it, and Noora shuts out the fear the best she can.
Which isn’t always very well, honestly. Life is different now, but still, she remembers how things used to be. How on the fourth day in this city, years ago, in what feels like a different lifetime, existing in a different version of herself, she’d gotten lost, ended up walking in loops at King’s Cross until William answered her FaceTime call and redirected her with scorn and irritation towards what had been at that time, their home.
In the end, it had been the exact opposite.
Noora never felt like this city was truly hers to keep, to cling onto amidst everything else going wrong or right in the world, in her world. Even now, it isn’t hers, not in the mediocre, understated way that Oslo had been— comforting, easy, safe. Noora doesn’t own too much now, just a shabby apartment close enough to school and a nice cafe, but that’s okay. Enough in return for not being owned herself.
Eva huddles close to her as they wait for their next train, a waft of cool air passing by when a maintenance door opens, an employee coming and going. Noora catches the way Eva turns her head away from the rush of incoming pedestrians, flicks her hair, exposes the slope of her neck and the gold, leaf-lined choker hanging loose on her skin. Noora’s not surprised anymore when she finds she wouldn’t quite mind it if she belonged to Eva. It’s an all too familiar thought, the same as the next: if Eva was hers, right back, even if just for a little while, Noora would like that too. Of course, Eva is too momentous, too much, too grand and beautiful and effulgent to be contained by simply her— and she’d never want to contain her, anyway— but Noora will take what she can get. Anything and everything.
She’s not critiquing Eva, not wishing she’d be something else, not forcing her into anything. She’s letting Eva exist, breathe, make her own choices. After all, it was Eva’s suggestion to come visit Noora in the first place.
It’s weird for Noora to want now. She hasn’t wanted anyone in a long time. Come to think of it, she’s maybe never wanted anyone since Eva at all.
She loves Eva. That’s the difference between her and William. She has nothing but appreciation for her, nothing but grace, forgiveness, honesty and acceptance. And there’s nothing wrong with a love like this, no matter what anyone says, even her own mind sometimes.
“Mind the gap between the train and the platform,” the repetitive, polite, droning voice on the loudspeaker proclaims. It’s drivel, overstated, and instead, Noora thinks about how she wants to fill the gap between her and Eva instead.
So she does, because suddenly she doesn’t feel like there’s anything else that she could do that would make quite as much sense, in this moment and in this place and in this city and in this lifetime— and then Eva is pulling away, but she’s smiling, grinning and pressing her lips back to Noora’s before Noora can even really register that she actually got the nerve to kiss her in the first place, and—
This is it. Noora doesn’t need to own this city. All she needs is this moment, and god, does she have it now.
People move past them, cheering and whistling and cat-calling too, but she doesn’t care, even when she gets shoved a little in the process of the foot traffic. She just moves closer to Eva, fits her hands around the curve of her waist and finds herself flush to Eva’s chest, smiling into the kiss. There’s mixed in complaints, a muttered comment about people needing to get places and not having time for snogging, and then she’s well aware that the train they were meant to catch has left already, but she doesn’t care.
“Stay,” Noora says, breathless and desperate when they finally pull apart. "Don't go." Eva just nods, windswept and beaming before she erupts into a fit of giddy laughter.
“You really think I'm going back home anytime soon after that?"